Stiles Goes to a Funeral
by DancesintheWind
Summary: Stiles wants to go to Matt's funeral, hoping to relieve his anxiety and fear that Matt is still out to get him. Derek volunteers to go with him.
1. Chapter 1

The pack was sitting around Derek's front porch steps when Stiles pulled up in his Jeep. They were lounging around, sweating from the training that Derek had just put them through. Derek did not seem to be around which was fine with Stiles, the man made him feel nervous.

Stiles plastered false cheer on his face and walked over to sit next to Scott.

"Hey buddy," Stiles greeted, bumping elbows with him, "how ya doin'?" Scott turned and smiled at Stiles. He had a sweet expression on his face, like an adorable puppy.

"Hey Stiles, I am exhausted from training, but doing good," he paused and added, "Glad it's Friday,"

"Yes! Me too!" Stiles exclaimed momentarily distracted, "Two whole days without Harris! Man, he was a hard ass this week,"

"Uum," paused Scott, "isn't he always?" and laughed, elbowing Stiles in the ribs.

"Yeah, I guess, he just seemed extra hard this week. But, ahhhh," sighing, he stretched his legs out and put his hands behind his neck, "we are free men this weekend,"

"What are you doin' this weekend?" implored Scott

"Eh? Uh, well," shit, he supposed he should just tell him. Stiles pulled his legs back in and resumed sitting with his body hunched over, "I think I'm gonna go to Matt's funeral..." Stiles felt Scott stiffen beside him and he rushed to finish, "and then I thought we could hang out, play some Wii and maybe study together," Stiles fidgeted with his fingers, twisting them and clenching them. He didn't look at Scott directly but he could see him out of the corner of his eye. Scott was not the first to respond and Stiles jumped when Isaac spoke up instead.

"Why would you go to his funeral?" Isaac asked seriously. Stiles looked up from his hands in surprise, everyone was watching him.

"Um, well, I, uh, thought I should, uh, go since he went to our school," he lied, stuttering through his explanation as he tried to calm his nerves.

"But he was a jerk!" Scott blurted out, "You would go? Even after what he did to you?! What he did to me? What he did to Derek? My mom?! Your DAD?!" Scott did have many excellent points but Stiles was determined.

"Uh, yes! I know he was a jerk! Actually, he was a real monster!" The wolves flinched at that word but Stiles continued, "I know what he did was bad, really bad Scott, but I need to go!" He was angry that Scott was making such a big deal. Matt was dead after all, but then again, that's what was bothering him but he wouldn't tell Scott that. Scott stood up in frustration, pacing in front of the steps.

"Tell me why Stiles!"

"I just... I just," Stiles was losing steam. Scott was right, it was insane to go to Matt's funereal but Stiles could never tell him the real reason, " I just need to go Scott, you wouldn't understand," he said in a drained voice and he curled his body into himself more. With his elbows on his knees, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm down.

A noise made Stiles look up. All the wolves were looking toward to door of the Hale house. Derek Hale stood in the doorway, stillness cloaking his body and for an instant, Stiles saw him as ordinary humans saw him. He looked tall but he really was no taller than Stiles, but he held a presence about him that made him seem taller. His shoulders were broad and his whole body was filled out with muscle. He had thick, dark hair and a square jaw line, covered in stubble. He was certainly worth looking at.

Derek flicked his eyes over his pack and with a quick jerk of his head, the wolves stood up and moved into the house, leaving Stiles alone with him. Stiles' anxiety level raised almost immediately. Although he could admit Derek was a very handsome man, he also knew he was a very dangerous man. The rest of the pack was inside the house but most likely not out of hearing range. He supposed that if Derek was really threatening him or hurting him, Scott would come out and protect him. God, sometimes it felt good to know that Scott was a werewolf. He could certainly hold his own. But what was the reason for Derek to want to be alone with him? He pondered this for a moment until Derek moved down the steps to stand in front of him.

Derek stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His shirt pulled over his muscles and created a very imposing effect. Stiles' eye's stalled for a moment, tracing Derek's hard lines over his chest. His eyes trailed up to his mouth then flicked his eyes to meet Derek's eyes. He flushed crimson, realizing that Derek was watching him check him out. He quickly looked away, face burning.

"Why are you going to Matt's funereal?" Derek demanded, frowning.

"Uh, I, uh, well, I, uh," stammered Stiles, so nervous he couldn't think. He could feel Derek's eyes on him and it was freaking him out. He swallowed and tried again, "I, uh, I want to go," he sounded strangled. His eyes flicked back to Derek. Derek shifted his body forward and Stiles flinched, pulling his body back and involuntarily closing his eyes, thinking Derek was going to hit him. His heart raced but when he didn't feel a hit, he slowly and carefully opened his eyes again. He only saw that Derek had been moving to sit next to Stiles on the steps. When Stiles had flinched, Derek froze, staring at the boy with wide eyes.

Stiles was panting for breath, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. His hands gripped his thighs.

As if he didn't want to frighten a scared animal, Derek slowly and carefully moved to sit next to Stiles on the steps. He sat next to Stiles, close enough that Stiles could feel the other man's body heat. As Derek leaned his elbows on his knees, he turned his head to look at Stiles who was still trying to calm down. He didn't know why Stiles' heart had begun racing in his chest. He had flinched away like he was going to hit him but Derek thought Stiles knew that he was part of the pack. He would never purposefully try to hurt or scare Stiles. He cared for him, all his pack members really, even though he didn't show it.

As Stiles slowed his breath and calmed down, he turned and looked to Derek. When Derek decided that Stiles' heart was beating at a more average pace, he spoke.

"Why do you want to go to Matt's funeral?" He asked quietly.

"I thought it would be the right thing to do," Stiles whispered in response. Derek growled at the stupid answer because he could hear Stiles' heart pause, he was lying to him.

"Don't lie to me," he ground out, watching Stiles fidget next to him. When Stiles just looked away, Derek growled again in frustration. "Fine, whatever. Go to the god damned funeral, I don't care," spat Derek, standing up to leave.

But Stiles, without thinking, reached out and grabbed the other man's hand. Derek turned to snarl at Stiles but when he saw his face, he stopped. Stiles had his eyes open wide and looked incredibly vulnerable. Derek's wolf whined, wanting to protect and comfort the pup.

"I am so afraid Derek," Stiles managed to whisper. Afraid of him? Derek thought. "I haven't slept well since the night at the police station..." Oh, thought Derek, afraid of what had happened. He sat back down and stilled his body, listening to the kid. "I wake up at night to noises and shadows, I keep thinking Matt is out to get me... that he's coming to kill me, or my dad... or Scott," he paused again, "... or you," he whispered. "I've been so scared," he swallowed and looked over to Derek.

Derek was watching him with a frown. Not an unhappy frown, but a confused frown.

Stiles continued, it felt good to talk about it, "I just want to see him in his coffin, I want to the stupid lid close and watch him be put in the ground. I want to know that he's really dead. I want to know that I'm safe,"

Derek watched Stiles and listened to his heart. All truths.

"Okay," Derek said in a measured voice, "but I'm going with you," Stiles jerked his head up and stared at the man sitting next to him. "Really?" Implored Stiles, eyes wide. Derek only nodded in response.

Stiles gasped and leaned forward for a hug. Derek jerked away so Stiles just opted for an awkward pat on the back instead. Derek gave him a look and he pulled his hand back into the safety of his own lap.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow then," Derek said and stood up, disappearing into the house.

Stiles sat for a moment, kind of dazed, What just happened?


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Stiles dressed for the funeral. His father frowned when he left but he wasn't sure if he was frowning because he was going to the funeral or if it was because Derek Hale, once a suspect of two different murders, was picking him up in his sleek, shiny, Camaro. Derek waited in his car, engine purring with impatience. Stiles loped out and got in the car while his dad watched from the door.

"Hey Derek, buddy," he greeted with a smile. Derek only gave him a look. He put the car into first gear and they pulled away from the curb.

VVVVVVVVVV

The funeral parlor was packed; there were lots of people there from the school and the community because they only thought that Matt was a bright, high achieving student who drowned in a terrible accident. They did not know the truth and every story he heard made him feel sick. Stiles felt sick. The air smelled sterilized, the people were wigging him out and the whole situation made him feel a little crazy. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

Before the service started, people were waiting in line to visit Matt in his coffin. It was like a morbid fascination. While the people waited in line, they could look at all the pictures hung up of Matt. Matt playing soccer… Matt at the beach… Matt with old school friends… Matt on vacations. Stiles begrudgingly admitted that Matt was cute when he was a little kid. If he hadn't been so creepy, first with Allison, then turn into a psycho killer, Stiles would have maybe thought about running his hands through his curly hair or fantasize about him while he was in bed. There's no shame in fantasizing… except when it was about a creeper psychopath. Yeah, Matt had a terrible experience when he almost drowned as a kid, but that didn't give him an excuse to kill people with the kanima, and most certainly not what happened at the police station. It made Stiles sick just thinking about it.

The line moved quickly. Most people were just briefly visiting with Matt than walking away. Stiles had to agree with them; he would choose to only stare and linger briefly with death then move on quickly, rather visiting with the life in the room instead.

Soon it was Stiles and Derek's turn. They walked up together, stopping and staring at Matt in his coffin. Matt looked...off. His face was smoothed and had make up on it. His skin and facial expressions looked stiff, like plastic. His eyes were closed, thank god, and he had this soft smile plastered on his face, like he was listening to good music… or watching the kanima kill off people he didn't like. Yelch, everything felt so creepy. Even his hands looked unrealistically folded across his chest. Who folds their hands over their chest like that in real life? It seemed all like a show. He thought for a minute. Well, yeah, it is a show obviously, it's a show to all the friends and family, creating false pretenses that their dead is really happy and satisfied, loving it in Heaven or wherever they believed they would go or not go. The show was put on to comfort the living. Matt didn't give a hoot where his hands were. He was dead for crying out loud!

Stiles just stood and stared. Even though he _knew_ Matt was dead, (_he knew!_) it was still extremely unsettling. He could feel his heart beating quickly. He wanted to touch him, to be sure that it really was him, and not a maniquin or wax statue. He had seen other visitors touch Matt so he knew it was okay. Holding out a shaky hand, he reached over and gently touched Matt's arm. It was solid. He slowly moved his hand over to touch his hands folded on his chest. The hand was also hard, stiff, as if the stuff that they pumped the dead body with to preserve it, froze the body stiff. It was so morbid and horrible. His heart raced. He could just imagine Matt reaching out and grabbing him. It was his nightmare. He imagined Matt grabbing him and dragging him to hell with him or getting buried alive with him. His breath hitched as he pulled his hand back against his body.

Derek reached out and carefully rested his hand on Stiles' back, but the boy almost jumped with fright. Derek pulled his hand and shoved them in his pockets, frowning.

Rubbing his hand continually on his pants, Stiles excused himself to go wash his hands in the bathroom. He had to get the feeling of the dead off his hands. He soaped up and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. He felt like Lady MacBeth, imagining something that wasn't really there as he tried to wash the feeling off. When he was satisfied, he dried his hands and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror.

His face was incredibly pale and his eyes looked wild. He didn't feel too far off from the truth.

VVVVVVVVVVV

When the service started, lots of people went up to the podium to tell stories and laugh about the good times. Everything you could imagine except instead of feeling comforted in the stories like their purpose, he felt sick and uncomfortable.

Stiles clenched his teeth as his insides twisted. He felt so sick, disgusted as he listened to all these false stories. All Stiles could think about was that night, at the station: the fear of dying, the fear that Matt was going to hurt his dad, the feeling of helplessness when the kanima attacked, the panic when he heard gun shots. His vivid memories were running through his head like a horror movie where he couldn't press pause.

But almost instantly, he felt his anxiety pull away. Derek had scooched over on the bench, his body now just barely touching Stiles'. Their bodies aligned from shoulder to knees and he could feel the heat from the other man, warming him and scaring away his personal darkness. Stiles took a calming breath, relieved as his tension left. He turned and gave a small, shy smile to Derek as thanks. It was a relief that he could finally breath again.

Truthfully, he could handle the werewolves and kanimas and creatures that go bump in the night, but humans were so unpredictable. He hated humans. Humans like Matt and Jackson who do, did, everything they could to ruin him.

They sat like that through the rest of the service. Stiles took extreme comfort with Derek next to him. He was familiar and safe. It was an interesting feeling, really. Previous to today, he would have said that Derek scared the shit out of him. That almost every moment was filled with anxiety and tension where he feared he was going to die. But today, he felt like they turned the corner. He actually felt comforted! Comforted in _Derek's_ presence! He felt good sitting next to Derek and he instinctually knew that Derek was only trying to help. He guessed that's why he even agreed to come today. It was some seriously startling thoughts and he was distracted through the rest of the service, thinking and stealing, probably very obvious glances at the man sitting next to him.

VVVVVVVVVVV

When the service ended, Stiles heaved a huge breath of relief. The people filed out the room and out into the parking lot. Many of the people were going to follow the hearse in their cars, a parade of orange, magnet flags attached to the roof of their vehicle, all going to the cemetery where Matt will be in his final resting place.

Derek's Camaro also was decked out with a flag but Stiles decided that he had enough.

"Will you drive me home now?" Stiles asked in a small voice. Derek turned to look at him, surprise evident on his face.

"You don't want to go to the cemetery?"

"No, I've seen enough,"

Derek pulled the flag off his car and gave it to a waiting attendant. They both slide into the seats and Derek pulled the car out of the parking lot. They drove in silence and for once, the silence was comforting.

When Derek pulled up to his house, Stiles paused as he got out of the car. He leaned over and gently rested his finger tips on Derek's leather jacket.

"Thanks," he swallowed.

Derek looked at Stiles, a questioning, imploring, unreadable look. Stiles keep his fingers tips on the jacket, for once in his life, not afraid that Derek was going to bite them off. Even just touching his sleeve, Stiles felt an overwhelming sense of safety and comfort. Derek seemed to be the center of his comfort today, like a rock, and it felt good to know that Derek was there for him.

"Thanks for everything," his words lingered heavy in the car. He turned to leave the vehicle.

"Your welcome," replied Derek quietly.

Stiles met his eyes once more before slipping out and closing the door gently behind him.


End file.
